Desire
by BronteLover
Summary: Spock watches Nyota shower. This is an accompanying piece to "Watching". Although this story can stand alone, I recommend that you read "Watching" first so that you can see the link between the two stories.


**Desire**

He could hear the fading laughter of cadets as they made their way to their dormitories or to clubs. Aside from that distant sound, there was nothing. The pool area was completely deserted.

He stood in front of the women's locker room for an age, a part of him hoping that someone would appear and ask him what he was doing. No one appeared, however, and so he walked into that place that he knew was forbidden to him.

This was completely illogical. He could not justify why he had chosen this course of action. He knew that this was wrong, and because Vulcans never lied, he could not lie to himself and say that it was not wrong because he was not hurting anyone. He could not say that he was not driven by selfish motives. He could not say he was not driven by that dangerous entity, which had been alien to him until now: Desire.

His heart rate accelerated slightly at the intimate whispers of her undressing. As he rounded the corner, he was met with the sight that belonged to the sounds. She removed her swimming cap and then her regulation one-piece. The cinnamon coloured skin of her back, buttocks and legs were completely exposed to him. The dark curtain of hair fell down her back as she wrapped herself in a towel, and stored her wet garments in her locker.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, and only opened them when he heard her turn the shower on, and the sensual murmur that she made as the water met her skin. He followed the sounds and stood behind a locker as he observed her. Her small, high breasts were curved delicately outwards as she ran her hands through her satin like hair. Her stomach was gently rounded and smooth. He imagined that her glowing skin would taste sweetly intoxicating to his tongue.

Water ran in small rivulets down her body, which drew his gaze over her deliciously curved buttocks and down her long, supple legs. He watched with intense fascination as she lifted one leg slightly, and then another, first washing her thighs, and then her hand crept higher, until she finally washed that most private part of herself with a sensuous up and down motion. He licked his lips as she rinsed away the soap to expose the inverted triangle of dark hair that grew between her thighs. Unbidden images of him kneeling before her and softly kissing her there, manifested in his mind.

Her body curved delicately as her soapy hands moved up her stomach and over her breasts, and her head fell back to expose her tantalizing throat as she washed it. He wanted to stand behind her, as naked as she was, and wash her breasts and stomach in slow, purposeful circles. He wanted to kiss her throat as she leaned back against him with her hair a wet weight against his shoulder.

His thoughts were saturated with her. Her movements, her sounds, her body. He closed his eyes once more and inhaled deeply. What he wanted to do was not logical. He had already admitted to himself that everything he had done up to now was not logical. She was his star pupil, and his Teaching Aid. She trusted him implicitly because he had never given her any reason not to. He had always acted professionally with her, never showing the increasingly inappropriate longings which had begun to breed inside him. His utter invasion of her privacy could ruin everything between them, and result in her laying a charge of harassment against him. Despite the voice of logic, which calmly told him to turn around and exit the locker room, he stepped away from the shield of the locker, and the safety of his fantasies.

The steam from the shower swirled gently around him as he walked towards her, his footsteps too soft to be heard over the spray of the water. She had her back to him as she pressed the button on the wall for more soap. He hesitated for a moment before he lightly laid his hands on her shoulders. Her body tensed before she turned around, making droplets of water fly off her hair. She stared at him, and he noticed that instead of her eyes merely being dark brown, as he had always thought they were, there were flecks of gold in them, and the irises were encircled with black.

"Nyota," he murmured, as he loosely gripped her throat, rubbing the delicate column with his thumb.

She was silent, and her mouth was slightly open. He could hear that she was breathing more rapidly than usual. Her nipples were hard against his chest, and her small hands were opening and closing next to her sides. He lowered his head to the curve where her slender neck and sloping shoulder met, and inhaled. She smelt of subtle desert spices and regulation soap. Parting his lips, he laid soft kisses on her skin, and tasted the sweetness he had imagined. He heard her sigh as her hand settled on his back, and she leaned into him. Her skin, despite the hot water of the shower, was cooler than his, and he relaxed into her touch.

His fingers traced the smooth flesh of her buttocks where the cheeks met. He brought his head up and gazed into her eyes as he brushed her hip with his fingertips, before finding that place that was her most secret. He felt the tight curls of her pubic hair as his fingers drifted lower, until he slid his finger along her velvet heat, which elicited a sigh from her.

She slid his swimming trunks down his legs and let them pool around his feet, as she brought her hands up to rest on the middle of his back. Her fingers pressed into him and traced the muscles next to his spine. His teeth lightly grazed her collarbone before he moved lower and kissed her hardened nipple, which made her hand slide up his neck and softly grip the back of his head. Her thumb stroked the point of his ear as her head fell back.

He cupped her buttocks as he entered her.

"Spock," she sighed, with her fingers pressed into the curve of his spine.

He was gentle with her, because he wanted to make love to her. He wanted her to remember how she felt with him inside of her. This time needed to last as long as possible, so that he knew it was real. He memorised the soft sounds she made as he moved within her, and the cool press of her flesh against his. She arched her body as she reached her release, and as his own surged through him, he buried his face in the black cascade of her hair.

Afterwards, he drew her back into the warm spray of the water, and breathed in her scent. He thought that her scent embodied her so completely, because that was what she was: the exotic amidst the mundane.


End file.
